


Singing "Nobody Will Ever Remember Me"

by Cottonstones



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco, Young Veins
Genre: Imaginary Friends, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones/pseuds/Cottonstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Pete is ten, he gets rid of all his imaginary friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Singing "Nobody Will Ever Remember Me"

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "From Now on We are Enemies" by Fall Out Boy.
> 
> ***s denote the switch between past and present.

When Pete is ten, he gets rid of all his imaginary friends. He sits under the monkey bars in his backyard with his eyes closed and his hands in the grass and he wishes them away. Adam – he sends Adam away to live in a foreign country, somewhere Pete’s only read about in school. Adam is happy there, picking up the language quickly. Archibald – he goes to the jungle to explore lost civilizations and take photographs. 

All of them, all the friends he talks to at night, he sends them all away. It’s a little sad, because he always liked them (otherwise, he never would’ve dreamed them up at all), but Pete’s dad says that Pete’s a big boy now and big boys surely don’t have imaginary friends. 

*** 

“You should sleep, Pete,” Patrick says softly. Pete nods. He should, but he won’t. He never does. His room is dark and his laptop is open, the bright neon glow radiating off the screen and bouncing against the walls, washing Pete out. 

“I should.” 

Patrick steps up behind Pete and rests warm, rough hands on his shoulders, working away the tension caught there. “The internet will still be there when you wake up.” Patrick doesn’t get it – these are Pete’s people and they need him just as much, if not more, than Pete needs them to need him. 

"They make me feel less like an isolated incident and more like – "

“An epidemic?” Patrick finishes and yes, it’s perfect, Patrick always knows what to say. 

Pete laughs darkly and then Patrick’s hand wraps around his bicep, leading him to his messy bed, sheets and blankets kicked off and hanging onto the floor. Patrick gets Pete settled, the covers drawn up over him, and Pete sighs into the pillow and closes eyes that feel tight and dry. It feels like he’s been awake for weeks, months, years. 

Patrick closes the laptop and a stilled darkness spreads around Pete’s bedroom. 

Pete strains his ears to hear Patrick’s breathing. He can’t hear it over his own heartbeat, but he’s peaceful, in a way, because he can feel Patrick there. 

***

Pete spends five months talking to a psychologist, Dr. Hummel. It starts two days after his tenth birthday. His mom and dad sit squeezed onto the plastic-covered couch with Pete between them. They all keep referring to him as Peter and Pete. He hates that. 

“Peter doesn’t sleep much anymore,” his mother says, her voice dripping with concern. Both of her hands are holding one of his. Pete can’t remember if the insomnia had started before or after that point in time. Pete’s dad nods in agreement. 

“We put him to bed and he just lies there all night. Sometimes, he screams and cries,” he adds.

Pete’s cheeks burn and shame fills his gut. He wants to disappear, wants to be anywhere but here. He wants the friends he sent away two days before. 

***

“Your mom called two days ago,” Patrick reminds him as they eat lunch together at a little diner downtown. Pete likes to watch the waiter who works at the place; Ryan is his name. Ryan is interesting and has that quality to him – awkward, troubled, mysterious. Ryan is serving a plate of food to some goofy-looking black-haired guy who has to be at least ten years younger than Pete himself. 

Patrick taps the table to gain Pete’s attention once again. “Your mom?” he reminds him. Pete shrugs and fiddles with a fry. 

“I don’t really want to talk to her.”

“Why not?” Patrick plays with the brim of his hat but keeps his eyes locked on Pete. 

“I don’t have anything new to say.” 

“She wants to hear from you.”

“She’ll ask if I’ve been sleeping.”

“Tell her you have.”

“I can’t lie to my mom, Patrick,” Pete says quietly. Ryan is walking towards them, so Pete lifts his head and throws on a smile, his skin feeling worn yet tight. He feels heavy and dim. Ryan smirks coyly at Pete as he passes by.

Patrick just sighs. 

***

Pete stops paying attention to what Dr. Hummel says three weeks into their sessions. He stares straight ahead and lets his mind wander. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he sees dark things, things that seep and spread and grow in the dark and crawl their way towards him. Pete remembers that Adam used to help keep those dark, unknown beings away. 

He does catch bits and pieces. "Safety issues." "Insecurities." "Coping mechanisms." "Medications."

Pete gets his very first dark-orange bottle of pills and, at the time, he thinks how cool it is to own something that has his own name on it. 

***

“No part of you thinks that this is a bad idea?” Patrick asks. He doesn’t sound pissed-off or jealous or any of the other things that Pete expects. Pete kills the engine and holds the keys out for Patrick to take. 

“I'm just hanging out with the guy, Patrick. There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“Ryan is barely eighteen,” Patrick points out. He doesn’t sound judgmental, just like he’s stating facts, like Pete doesn’t know that Ryan is seven years younger than him and still in high school. 

“Whatever, man. I won’t be long. I’ll text you when I want you to come back and get me, alright?” Pete says. He sounds groggy, drugged despite being temporarily drug-free. Patrick tilts his jaw up, his eyes shining bright even in the dark of the car. It’s not the first time Pete’s gone into something hoping that Patrick would stop him. He doesn’t want anyone else to see Pete the way he does. 

Pete might have went in telling himself that he’s just going to watch a movie with this high school kid, talk music with him, but in the deep recesses of his mind, he knows that he’ll wind up doing so much more. 

He’s got Ryan on his back in his twin-sized bed with Ryan telling him to ‘go quick’ because his dad could be home any minute and then they’d both be fucked. Pete wonders if Patrick would find some way to save him if he got caught. He probably would. 

Ryan talks a lot while they fuck, moaning out Pete’s name and coming too soon, shooting across Pete’s hand and his own belly when Pete’s barely touched him. He still lets Pete fuck him, though, lets him fuck him hard into the mattress, hold him down – but he chokes out, “No – no bruises.” 

Afterward, when Pete is tugging his t-shirt on and trying to find his belt, Ryan’s talking about some guy who's desperately in love with him, some little shit named Brendon. Ryan laughs the whole thing off and says that it’s stupid, that Brendon doesn’t stand a chance, but he leaves good tips, so Ryan keeps the hope alive. 

Ryan tugs his boxers on and tells Pete that he’s really in love with the bartender who works at the bar next door to the diner, the guy three years older than him. Ryan stares out his bedroom window and says how he didn’t want the guy, Jon or something, to think he was inexperienced. He tells Pete how this was his first time having sex and asks if it was good. 

Pete leaves without so much as kissing Ryan goodbye. 

Patrick scoots over and lets Pete back into the driver’s seat. 

“How was the movie?” Patrick asks. Pete grins wide and shit-eating.

“Had an ending you could see coming from a mile away.”

Patrick smirks and buckles his seat belt, reminding Pete to do the same. 

“I took his virginity,” Pete says once they’re three blocks away. 

***

Pete hates taking his pills. He flat-out refuses to and it’s at least two years before he finds out that his parents were hiding them in his food. He stops eating for three days. His mom cries a lot and his dad screams a lot and his brother and sister glare at him like, maybe if he weren’t around, they could have nice things. 

Pete winds up feeling overwhelmed and frustrated, too full and ready to spontaneously combust. He goes down to dinner that night and tells his parents, his siblings, that he’ll take the pills. Inside his own mind, he’s pleading with them not to hate him. 

***

“You could never hate me, right?” Pete asks Patrick as they sit on Pete’s couch together. 

Patrick messes with his glasses – he only wears them half the time – and nods. 

“Never.”

Pete smiles, because he knows that it’s the truth. Patrick is the one shining spot of perfect amongst his drab life. 

“You’re really perfect, you know that?” Pete tells him. Patrick flushes a little and scratches at his neck. 

“I’m not, but I appreciate the words.”

Pete leans against Patrick, letting his head rest against Patrick’s solid, warm shoulder, the soft material of Patrick’s t-shirt catching against the stubble of Pete’s cheek. “I’m so lucky to have you. I don’t know who thought of giving you to me, but I can’t thank them enough.”

Patrick’s fingers push through Pete’s hair. “Someone’s got to keep you safe, right?” 

“You do it so well.”

Patrick laughs. “You hungry, Pete? Maybe we should go to the diner and then you can come back here and sleep.” Pete shrugs. There’s a deep pain in his stomach and he can’t really remember the last time he’s eaten, but Ryan’s at the diner and Pete doesn’t want to see him. "Stop worrying about Ryan. You didn’t do anything wrong," Patrick adds, like he can see inside Pete’s head and read every thought that’s there. 

Pete sits up and looks at Patrick. Patrick stares back with those bright eyes, shiny even through the frame of his glasses. Pete leans forward and his hand catches Patrick’s shoulder, the other curling around the back of his neck. He leans forward the same time as he tugs Patrick closer and presses their mouths together. 

Patrick feels warm and tastes familiar; he already tastes like Pete despite their lack of kissing. 

Patrick pulls back. It’s the first time in Patrick’s presence where Pete doesn’t feel that same sense of _safewarmloved_ , because Patrick pulled away, and Patrick bites his lip and is all but screaming 'no.' 

“Pete, we can’t,” Patrick says. Pete doesn’t even wait for him to finish before he’s grabbing his keys and heading out the door. 

***

For a while, things are alright. Pete plays soccer, Pete has a girlfriend, Pete does his homework and takes his pills and his parents don’t get a divorce and his siblings smile at him and then, _then_ , his dad is moving out and his mom says that it’s no one’s fault and Pete’s girlfriend cheats on him with a senior who has a kick-ass car and a job and better teeth. 

And then Pete’s world turns dark and grey and the monsters of his subconscious come back out to play. 

He stops sleeping and sneaks out of the house using the window in the basement.

On one of these nights, he meets Patrick. 

Patrick is sitting on a bench in the park at three AM. Pete has no fucking idea why he’s there or why he feels the need to go and sit next to him, but he does, and Patrick doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Pete remembers being able to see his breath in little white puffs. Patrick was immune to the cold and the little puffs of white breath. 

“My name is Patrick” was the first thing Patrick said. He looked younger back then, baby-faced with big, shiny eyes, hat tugged down firmly, wearing nothing but a sweater and jeans. 

“I’m…Pete.” 

Patrick had smiled at him and offered his hand – it was warm, like Patrick wasn’t sitting outside during a Midwestern winter. 

There was no introduction other than that, no questions. Patrick had just looked at him with confidence and charm and that feeling of safety, protectiveness, warmth, and said, “From now on, things will be okay.”

***

Pete goes to the bar. It’s packed. He asks one of the bartenders to find him a guy named Jon. Pete is full of spite and cold, anger and hate; he wants to wreck the world until it’s as ugly as he feels.

Jon comes over to him. He’s good-looking, with nice smile and kind eyes. Pete kind of hates him already. 

Jon doesn’t know him, but Pete introduces himself and doesn’t even bother to order a drink before he says, “Do you wanna go fuck?” 

Despite Jon’s warm smile and kind eyes, it seems that he’s not above getting blown in the alley between the bar and the diner. The concrete is rough against Pete’s jean-covered knees and Jon’s belt buckle is scratching against the tanned skin of Pete’s forearm. 

Jon’s got his head tipped back against the brick wall and a hand in Pete’s hair and, for a few brief seconds, Pete feels protected and untouchable, safe out here in the cold night with his mouth wrapped around a stranger's hard cock. 

The back door to the restaurant bangs open and the glow from the kitchens falls directly on them, highlighting the act. Pete sees a tall, lanky shadow and thinks about how he had texted Ryan and asked him to meet him out in the alley. 

Pete sucks hard on Jon’s cock and Jon swears and comes with a strangled groan before he notices Ryan standing in the doorway, watching. Pete wipes his hand across his mouth and looks over his shoulder back at Ryan, who’s staring with big, hurt eyes. 

If Pete can’t have romance, no one can. 

***

Pete’s not sure when Patrick started living with him. One day, Patrick showed up at Pete’s apartment and it’s been a blur since then. It’s never felt awkward or uncomfortable. Patrick doesn’t pay rent and none of his shit is in the apartment, at least none that Pete can find. It never felt strange. It always felt right. 

***

Pete goes back to his apartment and Patrick is right where Pete left him. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Patrick asks. Pete shakes his head, bangs falling into his eyes.

“About how you rejected me? Not really.”

“I didn’t reject you.”

Pete whirls around. He feels like a pauper in his skinny jeans with dirt-stained knees, his too tight t-shirt, and his neon sneakers. “You didn’t let me kiss you.”

“True,” Patrick says, “but not because I don’t care about you.”

Pete moves over to the couch and practically collapses on top of Patrick. Patrick just smooths his hair away from his face. 

“You’re perfect. You’re a star. I need you to be mine.”

“I’m already yours,” Patrick tells him. Pete wonders if he even makes sense anymore. 

“I want you in the way Romeo wanted Juliet.” 

“No suicide pacts.”

“You’re all I need in this whole fucking world, Patrick. Are you straight? Is that why we can’t be together?” Pete asks. He looks up at Pete with huge eyes. He still tastes Jon lacing his tongue. 

“Peter, we can’t be together, because I’m not really here,” Patrick says, his voice whisper-soft and the only sound Pete wants to hear for the rest of his life. 

“What? You’re here, man! You’re right fucking here! I’m touching you!” Pete snaps. He has Patrick’s wrist in his hand and Patrick is warm, so warm. Patrick smiles a little sadly. 

“I’m an invention of a truly genius mind, aren’t I?” he says. Pete falters. 

“I’d never call myself a genius.” 

“Some part of you obviously thinks that you are.”

“Patrick, man, this shit isn’t funny. You’re not, what…imaginary?” Patrick nods. “You’re not. I’ve known you for nine years.”

“You’ve kept me around for nine years.”

Pete scrambles off the couch, panic striking deep through his chest. Patrick stands up slowly. He’s flawless to Pete, perfection. Pete can’t breathe.

***

"Mr. and Mrs. Wentz, you see...Peter creates these people in his life, in his mind. Whatever he needs, whatever he wants to get – no, whatever he’s not getting from the people around him...he creates someone who can give it to him." 

***

“You’re not imaginary, Patrick. I killed off all my imaginary friends when I was ten years old.”

“And then, when you were sixteen, you created one in the park on a cold winter night.”

Pete shakes his head. "You don’t – "

“You just went to the bar and found Jon, the guy Ryan mentioned being in love with, because you wanted to hurt someone the way you were hurting.”

Pete ignores the fact that he didn’t tell Patrick about that. 

“You have to be real. You’re the realest thing in my world.”

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says. He moves closer to Pete. Pete shakes uncontrollably. It’s terrifying, because it all makes sense – Patrick is everything Pete could ever want or need, because Pete made him that way. Patrick has no flaws, because he’s Pete’s personification of perfection. He knows Pete’s thoughts, because he’s one of them. 

“No one in the world cares about me like you do,” Pete whispers – and, really, there is no one, because Patrick…Patrick isn’t anyone. He doesn’t exist outside of the confines of Pete’s mind. 

“No one else can see you. I’m fucking…I’m nuts.”

“You just want to be loved.”

“You can’t love me. You are me.”

Patrick moves forward and captures Pete in a hug. Pete doesn’t fucking get it – Patrick is solid and warm and able to be touched. How could it all just be a figment of an overactive imagination that spiraled out of control? 

Pete lets Patrick hold on to him, sinking his fingers into Patrick’s hair, breathing damply into his shoulder. “Will you…are you going to disappear now? Go all Tyler Durden on me?” 

“As long as you need me, I’ll be here,” Patrick tells Pete. It doesn’t sound like a promise or a fact, just something...something for Pete to hold on to. Patrick walks Pete back to his bedroom, turning out the lights, and, really, Pete realizes that it’s just himself doing all this, that he’s fucking nuts – but he’s also not alone. He’s loved and safe and happy when he’s with Patrick. 

“Go to sleep, Pete,” Patrick says. He sits at the end of Pete’s bed and draws the blankets over him. Pete closes his eyes, can still feel Patrick sitting there.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” Pete asks.

“You tell me,” Patrick replies.

Pete knows, just knows, that Patrick will be there.


End file.
